


Choice and Consequence

by Nikolai_Knight



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, F/M, Force Choking, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Endgame, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Nikolai_Knight
Summary: Pagan knew that choices had consequences.He simply never expected Ajay to make him pay in such a violent way.





	Choice and Consequence

_Lakshmana was still . . ._

_Pagan stumbled towards the garden. The wooden train was cracked down its rear engine, trampled under the foot of a greasy boot, and the stuffed monkey was slashed on its side, with stuffing leaking out onto the grass. No birds sang. No men moved. A series of guards lined the perimeter, as they protected the crime scene from intruders . . . interlopers . . ._ terrorists _. A sweat broke over his flesh, as he looked to the footsteps cast over the mud._

_The world spun around him, while sparks burst about his vision. A heavy scent of iron filled the air, so rich that it tasted tart and strong on his tongue, and a sharp pain shot through his lips and cheeks, as liquid filled his mouth and he choked back on bile. It burned his throat. The silk of his shirt clung to his chest like a second skin, as stains ran down his back and under his arms, and time came to stand still with an eerie coldness. Every step echoed about the empty garden. The crack of a stick, the slurp of the mud . . . it filled his ears._

_Lakshmana lay limp on the grass. The small form was like that of a ragdoll, something broken and loose and still, and her eyes . . ._ her eyes! _. . . open and glassy, as they stared without seeing, and gone was her soft and gentle voice. He wanted her cries. He wanted her laughter. He wanted_ her _! The blood soaked her dress and painted her white into red. Pagan dropped down onto his knees with a thud, as pain seared through his veins._

_‘No, Lakshmana,’ whispered Pagan. ‘No. No, no, no . . .’_

_The skin was cold to the touch, as he stroked at her cheek. He struggled to see through the tears, which blurred his vision and distorted the world, and – with a trembling hand – he shook her shoulder and tasted tears with his blood, until bile and mucus merged into a horrific cloying sensation on his tongue. He retched. He gagged. Pagan scooped Lakshmana into his arms, where the sticky blood clung to his palms. The small head dropped backward and lolled. Pagan struggled to breathe, as heart raced in his chest. He called out:_

_‘Don’t do this to me, please!’_

_He slapped at her cheeks. No response. No, not his baby . . . food lay beside her half-eaten, while her favourite toy lay ready for play, and still she lay cradled in his arms without sound or thought or response . . . his future now his past, his life now at an end . . . he broke. The sounds from his lips were animalistic and barbaric. Too inhuman to be recognised. He rocked back and forth, back and forth, as he wept. The tears would not stop . . ._

_‘Lakshmana,’ he screamed. ‘Lakshmana!’_

* * *

“Ah, I see you found me,” chirped Pagan.

He poured the whiskey into the glass tumbler. Ice clinked at the sides, as the liquid glugged and splashed with small spurts, and – lifting the bottle back and employing the stop – he took the glass and handed it towards Ajay. The lingering silence brought a long sigh from his lips, as he whispered: ‘No?’ A quirked eyebrow was his only response. Pagan shrugged with a hum, before he brought the liquid to his lips and took a deep gulp.

The bitter liquid was familiar on his tongue, but delicious to the taste, and it warmed his blood with a burst that struck every vein as if at once. He closed his eyes and smiled. The quiet lounge was broken only by the ticking of the antique clock, along with the familiar hustle-and-bustle of people in the city below, and all around them life carried on, like ants in a nest busying themselves with inane task after task. Pagan slowly opened his eyes, as he downed the rest of his drink and slammed down the glass hard. He chirped:

“So, how did you find me, my boy?”

Brown eyes narrowed beneath low eyebrows. A few new scars pricked at parts of his neck, as well as the backs of his hands, and his lips – pursed into a thin line – revealed the hint of a sensible moustache just above, neatly groomed and fashionable. The jacket was unsuitable for the weather; thick padding and multiple zips, practical for outdoor sports in some colder climes, and it added bulk to his already looming frame. He stood in the doorway. The distance between them broken only by the dining table, plates of food littered the surface.

Pagan stepped out of the open kitchen, away from the bar and towards the dining area, and he stopped behind a chair head of the table, where callused hands rested on the cool wood. A touch revealed the subtle pattern carved onto every inch. He locked eyes with Ajay, who strode forward and stopped at the opposite end. The food still steamed between them. _Aloo Gobi_ badly made by inexperienced hands . . . Ishwari’s favourite . . . Pagan said:

“Still the strong, silent type, I see.”

“There weren’t many countries that would harbour a dictator as a refugee,” said Ajay. “The diamonds you stole away would be hard to sell without leaving a record. It was common knowledge you were a good businessman, even the CIA admitted that, and your track record before entering into politics was with gangs and criminals . . .

“It didn’t take too long to track you down. You – _Pagan_ – who drove Noore to suicide, who had the children of your enemies slaughtered, who bombed entire cities . . . you decimated Kyrat . . . you – you _fled_ unpunished, as if you were the victim!”

“Oh, come now! I gave you an entire country, Ajay.”

“ _A country that wasn’t yours to give_!” Ajay dropped a hand to his side. “Do you know how hard it was to get the country back to a _semblance_ of something close to civilisation? A new civil war broke out between Amita and Sabal, meanwhile you were here drinking whiskey and watching the stock market. How much money have you made off their backs?”

 _A loud click_. Ajay raised a gun toward Pagan. The muzzle caught a flicker of light, sending burning afterimages onto retinas, and the hand held the metal steady, with an intimate touch that send a shudder through Pagan that was visible from a distance. He smiled. A roll of his eyes garnered a loud growl from Ajay, who marched around the table and rammed the gun against his temple. The metal was cold and the pressure hurt.

Ajay breathed heavy and fast. The little hisses of air escaped flared nostrils, as his reddened cheeks betrayed the depths of his emotion, and – with a growl growing from deep within his chest – it took only a few seconds for the adrenaline to reach a peak. It was shoot or submit. Ajay always lacked the ability to shoot at close-range those helpless . . . those weak . . . Pagan held his hands upright in mock surrender, as his skin-tight attire made clear the lack of a weapon, and Ajay dropped his hand with a shake of his head and a snarl.

Pagan dropped his eyes to the gun, just a five-second reach from him. It would take a quick defensive gesture to wrest it from a loose grip, perhaps a bash of a candlestick to the skull, but he could have Ajay on the ground and at his mercy without trouble. Time ticked between them. The curl to Ajay’s lips was an unwanted sight, but the film of water to his eyes was a worse one. Pagan stepped forward. The gun shot back upward again.

“You have to pay,” spat Ajay.

“Will ten million do?” Pagan raised his hands again. “Did I ever tell you about the time when your mother asked for a thousand rupees? Well, I assumed it was for her son. After all, she talked so _endlessly_ about you! I was so enthralled by her at that time, so I offered her three-hundred thousand instead. My, you should have seen her expression!”

“Pagan, I’m warning you. Shut the fuck up.”

“Well, a few months pass. I come home – after a nice vacation in the States with our dear Paul – and she has this _wonderful_ meal laid out for me, and a present . . . a pen, actually, engraved with her name and image. I had only gone and forgotten my birthday! Well, as embarrassing as that was -? I was completely overcome with emotion. No one had ever bought me a present before, even if it was with my own money.”

Ajay lowered his aim again. A furrow overcame his brow, as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, and his body angled away from Pagan, as his shoulders hunched with muscles slowly relaxing from the previous tension.  He rested most of his weight on one hand, which clenched the back of the chair until knuckles turned white. Pagan smirked. The race of his heart pounded loud in his ears, while his mouth ran dry and his blood ran cold, and yet that smirk remained and he cocked his head to the side. He chirped in a bright voice:

“It was the same pen I used to stab that guard to death.”

A scream escaped Ajay’s lips. He lunged for him . . .

 _. . . her touch lingered on his skin, as he panted for breath . . . soft laughter only ever heard behind closed doors, heard for the first time since her arrival, and bitter tears when realisation struck that laughter had been missing for so many years . . . ‘you always know how to make me laugh’ . . . ‘it’s worth it to hear your voice, my_ soniye’ _. . ._

. . . hands wrapped hard about his neck.

Pagan hurtled to the ground, as a young body collided against him. The deep scars on his back ached with the sudden pressure along his spin, while every vertebra pressed hard on the polished floorboards with an unbearable ache, and he could see his reflection blurred in the wood each time he lolled his head. The folds of flesh from previous face-lifts were visible at this angle, along with a few age spots that crept in before their time.

He barely had time to centre himself. Fingers pressed into his throat, choking him and depriving him of air, and – clawing at rough hands – he spread his legs to accommodate Ajay and kicked wildly at the floor with both feet. Boots scuffed the floor. Choked gurgles erupted from swollen lips. Pagan saw only spots about his vision, as his heart raced and his pulse was felt uncomfortably prominent in his neck. Adrenaline coursed through him. This was more primal than a gun, more passionate than a knife. It was beyond expectations.

Just as his vision ran white, Ajay let go at long last. Pagan tilted his body to the side, as he coughed and spluttered and gasped for breath, and – as bile rose to the back of his throat – saliva dripped from his lips onto the wood. He could see once more. There would be bruises on his neck that would be shaped like thick fingers. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, as he forced a broken smile on his lips and panted out a teasing question:

“My dearest nephew, was that supposed to hurt?

Ajay glared. The last ounce of sanity broke inside Ajay, as rage and fear and grief built to a sharp point, and finally the tears streamed from his eyes, likely for the first time since her death. The tremble to his lips and the choked sob spoke volumes of his pain, enough that Pagan reached out a shaking hand towards him. Ajay slapped it away. The stepfather who loved him shunned by the boy who despised him, just as Ajay had grown to despise Mohan and Amita and even Sabal. Pagan screwed shut his eyes . . .

_. . . ‘Did I hurt you?’_

_Pagan laughed and shook his head. The bruises on his neck would be hidden easily by a scarf; Ishwari reached with a trembling hand to the red-and-blue flesh, before yanking her hand back as if burned, and he saw how instinctual that fear in her veins. Ishwari brought her hand to her naked chest, clasping it like a broken limb, while her eyes shone with unshed tears until he was forced to sit upright. He winced. The ache in his behind was raw._

_‘You could never hurt me,’ whispered Pagan._

_‘I – I am sorry.’_

_‘I asked you to choke me, my love.’ Pagan cradled her against him. ‘I would not ask for more than I could endure, and with you . . . it’s a controlled pain. I feel safe. I get to explore these sensations with someone I trust, and I feel closer to you because of that, but – if that worries you – we never need do that again. You are my first and only love.’_

_Ishwari let out a staggered sigh . . ._

. . . Pagan reopened his eyes. A buckle was unclasped, sending clicks and clatters through the air, and he let his eyes trail downward – slowly, slowly – until he saw Ajay ripping his belt through the hooks and bringing it to Pagan’s wrists. It would be easy to use this moment, perhaps kneeing Ajay in the groin or stabbing him in his side, but instead he allowed the belt to be wrapped around his wrists and pulled tight. The leather dug into his skin.

The table was lifted by its leg, as Ajay yanked Pagan towards the pillar of wood. It was dropped between his arms. The edge caught at Pagan’s forearm, bringing forth a scream of pain as a blood-blister formed on his pale flesh, and he struggled to remove his skin from beneath its foot. He instinctively pulled. The belt prevented him from moving his hands, so that only his legs were left to fight back, and already pins-and-needles pricked at his fingers, as a claustrophobic weight struck at his chest. He panted for breath, tears streamed.

Each tear ran into the buzz of his undercut, soaking into the black hair, and he knew that this was what he deserved . . . this was what was needed for Ajay to forgive . . . justice, punishment, karma . . . Pagan laughed and smiled despite the pain. The buttons of his shirt were wrenched open, scattering all about the room with loud clatters on wood. He needed to fight back. He _should_ fight back. A pledge of loyalty was sworn to Ishwari . . . to be faithful, to be dedicated . . . no one else should be able to count the scars on his chest.

The ridged keloid across his abdomen stood bright. Ajay failed to take note, as he worked on Pagan’s trousers and yanked them hard down his thighs, but soon they were caught on his boots and would go no lower. He was exposed with flaccid cock limp from a well-groomed area, as nipples hardened from the exposed air of the room, and Ajay furrowed his brow as his eyes raked over Pagan with an odd indifference and confusion.

“They say rape is less about attraction and more aggression,” rasped Pagan. “Is this what it will take for you to forgive me, hmm? You punish me, break me, and then -? What? We can go forward together and strives to make amends? Well, I would like that.”

“You – You fucking _left_ without even a goodbye, Pagan . . .”

“Did you _want_ me to say goodbye, Ajay?”

Ajay winced and turned his head. He screwed shut his eyes and pursed his lips, before – with a hiss of breath – working at his trousers with expert hands, while Pagan could only sit and watch as Ajay awkwardly climbed between his legs in the process. The bunched material at his ankles prevented him from spreading wider or kicking out, so that he was completely prone and at the mercy of one so much like a son to him. The new ruler of Kyrat.

The jeans were crudely shoved down, until his erect cock poked out over the split zipper, and it was the first time in Pagan’s life to see a circumcised length, especially one hard and ready for penetration. The pubic hair was a wild mess, with balls hidden under the waistband of his shorts, and the flared head beaded a few drops of pre-come at the slit, as the vein underneath bulged with expectation of the event to follow. Pagan laughed through his tears, as he waited for the inevitable. He could not betray Ishwari, but he could not fight Ajay . . .

 _. . . the_ mehndi _on her arms was styled like a peacock’s tail, in something elegant and grand, and he ran his fingers lightly over the dark brown lines with a smile, as her small hairs moved with the touch. Ishwari murmured in her sleep. It was one of the few times he saw her without shame; no thoughts of the man who touched her before, no thoughts of the job she was sent here to do, but simply a relaxed and naked form laid out on the silk sheets._

_Ishwari trusted him. There was no one else that would sleep in his bed, although there was none that he offered, and he knew that there would never be any after her, because this was all he wanted from life. The swell to her belly brought tears to his eyes. The child was a fresh start, as a small handprint pressed itself to the side of her brown flesh._

_Pagan chuckled and pressed his hand back . . ._

. . . Ajay pushed deep inside him. The pain was indescribable; every nerve was seared with a burning heat, as the inner channel was torn in several places, and – as the warmth of blood provided a natural lubrication – Pagan fisted his hands and choked on saliva. There was no gentle fingering. There was no exploration of the natural curve, as fingertips traced every soft ridge, and no crooking of the finger to search for the prostate. There just penetration. Pain.

Every thrust was animalistic, with the loud slapping of balls on buttocks. Ajay grunted fast and hard into his ear, while his sweat-soaked shirt clung to Pagan’s bare chest, and soon every inward slam brought squelches of blood that oozed out with streams of pre-come. It was humiliating . . . agonising . . . Pagan writhed to get away, but Ajay gave high-pitched keens in response to every movement. It made his inner walls flutter. It made them clench. It brought Ajay to a building climax that came faster than intended, as his eyes rolled back.

“A-Ajay,” gasped Pagan. “Ajay. _Ajay_. . .”

Ajay thrust balls deep inside him. The hot waves of come pumped out in several long ropes, where they stung his insides like salt on a wound, and – with a scream – Pagan broke beneath Ajay and wept through the mortifying and excruciating intercourse. He trembled and shook, until Ajay collapsed down against him. The weight of Ajay knocked the wind from him. Each heavy pant of breath echoed about the room, while Ajay’s member slid painfully from his swollen hole with a slurp of liquid. The red-and-white leaked onto the floor.

Pagan wept until his eyes turned bloodshot. The ache in his behind made movement impossible, while his legs seized up beneath him with terrible throbs of pain, and he could only lie lifeless and helpless as Ajay recovered from his afterglow. The way those brown eyes rolled back into his head was a frightening sight, but more so was the knowledge that he came so hard that he passed out from pleasure. Pagan turned his head to the side.

Vomit spilled forth in a small stream, as acid burned the back of his throat. The stench was an unforgettable one, as it brought back memories of sickness in his youth and poverty in ghettos about Kyrat, and – as vomit clung to the corners of his mouth – he panted to see the chunks of food from his evening meal. He wanted to laugh, but only tears formed and fell and his throat was still too sore to wish to form words. What sight would he make? What pity would his used and broken form bring to such a lunatic? Pagan lay limp . . .  

. . . _‘You have changed’ . . . smiles from Ishwari, sweat broken over her skin . . . pain washed away with absolute euphoria, a child crying as she lolled her head in the blood-soaked bed, arms reaching for the child borne of pain . . . Pagan watching . . . crying . . . ‘for the blood shed today, I swear I shall never shed blood again’ . . . a pact made on her life . . ._

Pagan nursed at his wrists. The welt around the skin stood thick, while blood bubbled from various cuts, and he awkwardly raised his legs in an attempt to regain sensation, while Ajay sat at the head of the table and sipped his whiskey. It was a formidable sight. Ajay was now tucked away and fully dressed, with slightly mussed hair and a beautiful glow to his skin, and so calm that he barely acknowledged the guards that came in to drag Pagan awkwardly to his feet. A fur throw was cast over his shoulders. A wet cloth ran over his cheeks.

Ah, the guards of a new leader. The start of a new day. Pagan knew how this would end, as fake passports were tossed onto the table of one guard before Ajay, and another talked of the logistics of smuggling such a refugee across country borders. The words merged and mingled in his mind, as he struggled to stand unaided. Every time he fell, arms would snatch at him and pull him back up, and bitter words of Kyrati told him to obey their new king.

“You are mine now, Pagan,” said Ajay. “You’ll serve me.”

Pagan laughed, as Ajay raised a hand and he was dragged to the bathroom. The waters ran red when poured over his flesh, while hands awkwardly groped and grabbed at him to make him ‘presentable’, and his reflection was the mere imitation of a man. He thought to Ishwari, lost after so much death and despair, and he thought to the blood on her hands as she finally made her goodbyes. Husband gone. Child lost. Only her memory remained . . .

_. . . ‘I will always love you, my one and only’ . . ._

Pagan wept. He was no longer hers.


End file.
